Chimera Code (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series) (11 page)

A roaring fire burned, crackling occasionally, the glow warming
the room and contrasting the inclement snowy wilderness on the
other side of the large bay windows.
Dillon stared at the mountains, their peaks invisible through the
low cloud and heavy snow. On the coffee table in front of him sat his
Sony Vaio laptop computer, the page blank, the cursor blinking in the
top left hand corner. He flipped the mobile phone onto the floor, and
remained staring at the bright screen deep in thought for a moment.
He wrote:

Dillon stared at the words on the screen. Ferran & Cardini knew
that he was alive. He had spoken to Tatiana. And, he had sent his
report to LJ direct from the helicopter that had picked him out of
Cornwall. They had okayed his return to his home in Scotland and
told him to wait for Vince Sharp to contact him. If it had been the
firm or someone in the ministry who had wanted him dead, he was
sure as hell he would already
be
dead. Unless it was a rogue element
within
Scorpion working their own agenda. Perhaps it was a situation
of biding time, waiting for the right situation to arise... Like Alix and
Lola turning up on his doorstep? Or Tatiana making an appearance?
Had Alix and Lola’s van been tracked?

No. He shook his head. Scorpion stood for everything that was
good; the global fight against terrorism in whatever form it took,
cutting away the cancer of modern society with the precision of a
surgeon’s knife. Every detail always thought through, there were never
mistakes... Not usually...

Dillon followed the premise: if whoever it was
did
want the
Scorpion units out of the way for good, why the elaborate set-ups?
If it were Scorpion themselves; why spend billions of pounds in
recruitment of the most experienced field operatives - only to kill
them off?

Something just didn’t add up.
And where did the Chimera Programme fit into this jigsaw? This
puzzle? Kirill was in charge of its development, programming and
refinement of the software that the Scorpion units were now field
testing. Dillon knew very little about the project or the programme,
except what Kirill had told him, but Tatiana had obviously been
involved from the start as liaison officer between Ferran & Cardini
and Kirill’s department and subsequently knowing more than most
about it. Three years ago, when they had shared much more than
just sex, she had trusted Dillon implicitly; she would talk to him long
into the small hours after the warmth and lust of their love making,
her features softened by candlelight... She would talk endlessly about
the advancements in computer aided warfare, which would inevitably
go straight over Dillon’s head, and always surprised him that she had
such an avaricious appetite for technological knowledge. And despite
Dillon’s extensive experience with military techno-systems the jargon
had flown way above his head. Tatiana’s involvement with the Chimera
project was also something that had many questions attached to it...
And what now? Now?
Dillon wrote:

Dillon got up and started to pace up and down the living room
carpet; pondering the questions he had thrown in to the hat. Like the
most frustrating maze, just when he thought he was heading in the
right direction, a dead end appeared, and he would have to retrace
his footsteps. And so it went, until he slumped down onto one of the
sofas.

I don’t know
, he thought, closing his eyes.
Outside, the wind howled and Dillon, almost absentmindedly,
threw a log onto the fire. It was Kirill who concerned him more than
anything - the cold hate filled look in the man’s eyes as the unwavering
gun muzzle was pointing straight at Dillon’s head. Something in Kirill
made Dillon’s soul go cold. There was something different about the
man. Something
very
strange.
And Tatiana...
Tatiana had pleaded with him to take on the assignment in
Cornwall. She had known Kirill a long time, worked closely with him
in her capacity as Ferran & Cardini’s liaison officer on the Chimera
project.
And if they had wanted
him
, Dillon, dead, then Tatiana had to
have known.
Dillon felt suddenly depressed, and immensely lonely. A sense
of vulnerability washing over him, attacking his confidence.
He still loved Tatiana; and knew deep down that she still loved
him. But the facts were staring him in the face.
She was part of it. Integral. A cog in the machine. Whatever that
was... She
had
to be...
Dillon knew; he would have to be extremely careful. He would
have to be prepared. And he would have to watch Tatiana’s every
move - and if she stepped out of line?
Then she would have to be dealt with.

Dillon went to his study. Entering the book-lined room, he
moved to his desk and pushed the button located just under the edge
of the oak top. Panels slid silently back to reveal the bank of six
HD monitor screens behind them. A screen saver moved from one
monitor to the next almost seamlessly and then changed theme every
twenty seconds.

He sat down at the master keyboard and initialised the operating
system. Entering the central hub, he typed in the password and
accessed the main house and land defence security systems, and
logged in.

Everything looked normal.
He scanned all hidden cameras for a three mile radius and
then a one mile radius. Nothing had been tripped or tampered with,
the power and voltage monitoring meters had not been broken or
hacked into. The system had been built to his exact specification and
the software programme written by one of the best hackers in the
business, Vince Sharp.
He finished running the scan.
Nothing. He looked at the screens for a moment, and lit a
cigarette. The CPU’s purred inside their housings and he decided to
randomly flick through a number of other concealed cameras located
higher up on the mountain-side, but could see nothing suspicious.
Dillon knew that just because it looks normal, doesn’t mean that
there’s not something there.
He was tempted to go and physically check the cameras, which
would serve no purpose and be completely unnecessary, given that
he had gone round all of them just before he had flown down to
Cornwall. He checked his watch. Tatiana would be arriving in a few
hours and he would need to be ready.
He walked through the hall and pulled on his boots, lacing them
tightly. Then he moved down the stairs to the cellar and placed the
palm of his hand on the biometric reader panel; a section of the wall
slid smoothly back and he stepped into a brightly lit room.
The armoury smelled of gun oil, and he opened the Armourlite
glass fronted security cabinets using a remote control unit. He moved
to the first cabinet and pulled free the Glock 9mm automatic. He
checked all the magazines and strapped them about his body. Then he
picked out a Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun, and then from
the next cabinet the AMSD OM 50 Nemesis 12.7mm sniper rifle, to
which he attached an infrared scope to the weapon with a precise
click
.
He checked the magazine, placed a couple of spares in his pockets,
then with the rifle slung over his shoulder, he locked the room, and as
he walked away the wall panel slid silently back into place.
Dillon locked the front door and using the remote control,
armed the security trip monitors and the CS Gas modules that were
located at strategic points around the property. He had a bad feeling
about Tatiana’s impending visit and wanted to check that she wasn’t
being followed by any big men in suits with submachine guns. Then
he set off across the grey-lit fields towards higher ground, so free of
violence in this far flung part of Scotland, and up past the edge of
the woods towards the beautiful view point of Cairn bluff, a craggy
outcrop of rocks.

Dillon felt cold to the bone.
His hands, protected by gloves, clasped the stock of the AMSD
OM 50 Nemesis sniper rifle and he sat covertly amongst the outcrop
of rocks, staring down at the lane. He had a clear view down the
hillside for at least a mile straight ahead of him, he targeted the high
powered scope, picking out snow laden branches on the trees, and
the fluttering of snowflakes falling: and he stole a moment to smile
to himself. From his vantage point, he had given himself the best
possible advantage, and had chosen the best killing ground, and
one reason why he had purchased the small castle in the middle of
nowhere. If there was going to be trouble - then he had chosen his
spot well.
He heard the engine, drifting up from the valley, before the
vehicle came into view around the bend. And when it did come, it was
slewing left and right with churning tyres, and then it slammed into
the low embankment with metal scraping against the frozen snow,
bouncing the back of the vehicle violently around and slamming it
across the lane as the engine screamed and tyres eventually found grip,
shooting the Mercedes AMG 55 forward at speed.
Dillon lifted the scope to his eye.
Tatiana was coming - and it appeared that she was in trouble.
The Mercedes accelerated madly down the narrow lane.
A black Range Rover Sport spun around the corner, gripping
effortlessly with its four wheel drive and winter tyres. It must have
been laying in wait for her, ready to attack; it accelerated down the lane
and started to gain ground on the Mercedes.
Dillon sighted smoothly. The auto-focus gave the Range Rover
instant clarity. The six occupants became pin-sharp images inside the
luxury 4x4. He could see them clearly - large men in dark clothing,
some were wearing dark glasses. One window was down, allowing
snow to blow into the vehicle - an automatic weapon appeared and
began firing.
The
cracks
echoed up the hillside a moment later.
Dillon trained the Nemesis on the driver; the Range Rover
slowed, immediately slewing to the left and then right, under heavy
footed braking as it negotiated a large snowdrift and Dillon cursed,
the figures inside the vehicle being thrown around, unsteady targets...
He closed his eyes, opened them and breathed out slowly.
Squeezed the trigger gently - once - reloaded and squeezed again.
The rapport would have been deafening, had he not been
wearing ear protectors, the stock punched his shoulder with a sharp
kick, and he saw the windscreen shatter and disappear into a billion
tiny pieces; the first round had missed the driver and hit the shooter,
hanging out of the rear window with the automatic, in the neck,
severing the main artery and spraying blood across the interior. The
second shot, had slammed into the forehead of the man sitting next
to him, blood, brain matter and fragments of skull turned the rear
windscreen a bright crimson. With a scream of gears and engine, the
Range Rover swerved left, smashing into the embankment and then
violently righting itself; the rear bumper was hanging off, split and
dragging noisily along the ground.
The lane, and Dillon’s advantage, was fast running out.
“Bollocks,” Dillon said out loud.
He repositioned the Nemesis and squeezed off a round. The
bullet slapped into the front wing bursting the tyre, the heavy 4x4
veered, Dillon reloaded round after round, and bullets continued to
slam into the door panels.
As the last round was fired, Dillon left the rifle in the snow and
sprinted down the hillside for the castle and the cover it would afford
him - if he could make it in time. Every muscle in his body felt alive
as he powered forward down the hill, he heard the Range Rover’s
engine pitch change as it spun into the private lane that led up to his
property, and then pass by him far below. More gunshots ricocheting
as the 4x4 flashed from view and Dillon pushed on, arms pumping as
he pushed on through the snow, the Glock automatic in his left hand,
a cold sweat covering his body, stinging his eyes.
More gunshots rang out from up ahead.
Dillon came over the ridge at a full sprint and the world opened
up before him, his home in the foreground with the stunning
mountain range as a backdrop on the far side of the loch, snow falling
in an idyllic postcard scene. Punctuated with the harsh full stop of;
s
avagery and destruction.
Tatiana had swung the Mercedes around in the turning circle to
form a barricade behind which she was crouched, gun in hand and
resting on the edge of the bonnet.
As Dillon appeared, the Range Rover howled straight for the
Mercedes, Tatiana darted out of the way as the heavy 4x4 ploughed
into the sports car amidst the devastating noises of screaming
crunching metal; the Mercedes was shunted into the front of Dillon’s
home, buckled and twisted, the windscreen exploded under the
pressure and the Merc’s boot popped open as the vehicle was pushed
into the main steps. The Range Rover’s doors were opening even as
the collision took place and men tumbled from the 4x4, automatics
and sub-machine pistols drawn.
Tatiana had taken cover behind Dillon’s Landrover, at the right
moment she came out, firing - in seconds bullets smashed across space.
One of the men was spun sideways with a bullet to the shoulder,
ripping apart clothing and flesh, and dropping him spinning to the
ground in a flurry of snow and a spattering of blood.
The sound of automatic gun-fire echoed around the valley, as a
fusillade of bullets scythed across the clearing. Four bullets smacked
into the large oak tree behind Tatiana in quick succession, their impact
making dull thuds in the bark.
The fifth bullet found its mark, catching Tatiana, puncturing her
flesh and knocking her backwards off her feet, legs and arms flaying
wildly as she went down hard onto snow covered gravel. She landed
awkwardly in a heap, wedged against the trunk of the oak tree, face to
the ground, legs twisted in a macabre abstract.
“No!” shouted Dillon.

Ministry of Defence - Whitehall London.
The highest level
military headquarters in the UK, providing political control of all
British military operations around the planet. The central staff is made
up of integrated service and civilian personnel who are responsible
for, amongst other things, planning strategy for the three principle
services - and now the Scorpion units. They control the monetary
budgets and financial deals, from buying and selling land, weapons and
military hardware to the masterminding of stock market economics.
Battles have been won, and some lost from within the inner sanctums
of this austere Whitehall building...

Those who knew of Scorpion, or who worked for them, would
often wonder about finance: how had this clandestine organisation,
part of the British military war machine against terror, become so
important? And how did it fund such impressive worldwide schemes
and plans?

There were no simple answers. But Ferran & Cardini International
was never very far away and always on hand to guide and advise the
top-brass at Scorpion. They now had fingers in many pies - Scorpion
held the controlling shares in some of the largest PLC companies and
financial institutions, owned a myriad of businesses from matchstick
making factories to oil corporations, worldwide. If there was money to
be made - big money - then Scorpion would in some way be involved.
And sitting in their eyrie, high-up in the atrium of their Docklands’
headquarters. The partners of Ferran & Cardini stroked their egos
and congratulated themselves for being such clever chaps...

Scorpion HQ was not visible from the air; it was hidden deep
underground, deeper than even the London tube lines, a massive
self-contained complex linked by hundreds of metres of labyrinthine
tunnels leading to rooms housing an array of hi-tech surveillance
equipment, canteens, satellite interface terminals and the main
servers that linked the worldwide Scorpion G8 network. Along with
two hundred highly trained Government men and women. Above
Scorpion HQ was a busy London high street; all normal and oblivious
to what lay beneath the pedestrian walk-ways, the bustling shoppers
and camera-toting tourists. Below the heavily guarded London
Underground... Scorpion HQ
existed
...

Deep down; an underground base, an underground world.
The entrances were disguised; hidden from the casual passer-by;
only the elite few knew of these access points, and where they were
located. One of them was located within the reception area of a travel
agent’s building. On this particular afternoon, the automatic sliding
door opened silently to reveal a stunning looking young woman.
She was smiling as she emerged outside, her expensive designer
suit looking sharp and business-like, and her company name badge
concealing a high-tech security access device to allow her to enter
Scorpion’s underground HQ.
She gazed up at the tumultuous clouds rolling overhead, watched
by a small group of workmen across the busy road, their eyes and
wolf-whistles admiring her long legs and immaculately groomed mane
of auburn hair.
Her gaze shifted, and a moment later she raised her hand to hail
a nearby taxi.
And then she was gone and replaced by a raging ball of gas
and flame that roared up from hundreds of feet below ground, like
a rocket racing up to the heavens screaming so loud it was beyond
anything natural. Buildings were vaporised in an instant. Concrete,
glass and steel disintegrated. Rooms and furniture and everything in
them were pulped and pulverised along with the occupants of the
buildings, and
below ground level
the heart of Scorpion, its central nerve
centre, all were vaporised within seconds as the WMD explosive device
was detonated - and the entire landscape of that part of London was
changed forever...
First came the booming concussion as the device detonated,
followed by the invisible but devastating shock-wave and in the wake
came dust, billowing up in a huge cloud that mushroomed above the
city, all generated by the small but high-tech nuclear device...
The explosion could be heard ten miles away.
With the aftermath came - silence.
Soon after, the screams and pitiful sounds of brutally injured
men, women and children could be heard.
And this all went on for an eternity.